Certainity. A Luxury We Can No Longer Afford.

This has been reposted from my American Mom in London blog, because yes, it's just that important to me.

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Shortly following the start of the worldwide economic meltdown, Mike turned to me one morning and asked, "But how does all this affect us?"

("Us" being folks with no immediate ties to the banking industry going about their daily lives.)

At the time, life around us hadn't changed much...

The London's streets were littered with just as many tourists as the day before. The shop lines on Kensington and Oxford Street were just as atrocious as ever, and the previous day our grocery store had run out of fresh bread before I could get there. It was business as usual.

Furthermore, we're decades away from retirement, well-educated, and completely debt-free. I assured Mike that we really don't need to worry, but his question still struck me as the "Gee, what else can go wrong?" of sitcom folly...

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What I'm about to tell you has been wallowing in the pit of my stomach and consuming my every thought.

I've avoiding talking about it until now, even with my family, because it's too difficult. Too complicated. Too personal.

When I started sobbing at Mass last weekend... while on the bus... and standing in line at the post office... and basically, any moment when I get five seconds to myself, I figured it was time to let it out.

So here, goes...

Our visas expire in 27 days and Mike's contract still hasn't been renewed.

Note, this is not to say that it wasn't renewed. Only that it hasn't, and his company seems to be in no rush. (Such the British way...)

On the other hand, the company has voiced on several occasions that it would LOVE to keep him on staff. His co-workers love him and are shocked that he hasn't been scooped up yet. However, the funding for the next project hasn't been secured and unless it happens within in the next four weeks, they can't...

Thank you, worldwide economic meltdown.

Everything could still change on a dime... er, ten pence, but for now, Mike has started job hunting again and when our visas expire, we'll have no choice but to move back-- uninsured, jobless, and homeless. (i.e. hobos)

This may come as a shock to most of our friends and family.

Why the hell would we turn our lives upside down, drain our bank accounts, sell our stuff, our home, and our car, and start all over for essentially six months of employment?

The answer is simple. I love my husband and it's great job. Not to mention, it's was an opportunity that we just couldn't pass up.

When he accepted the position, it was with the tacit understanding that it would be his for as long as he wanted it. We'd have a chance to see Europe, live abroad for a while, and build back our savings.

Of course, at the time, who could have foreseen the collapse of every single financial market in the world. (Certainly not the people "in charge"...)

We were just getting settled-- creating routines, desensitizing ourselves to the banking system, making wonderful new friends...

We very much want to stay, especially after everything we went through to get here. (Those of you closest to us, you know the stories. No need to rehash them here...)

As difficult as it has been to "adjust", the thought of moving overseas again, so soon and so suddenly, is exactly why I haven't slept in over three weeks.

Please don't tell me "It's going to be okay" or "We'll be fine". I won't be able to stand it. Not yet.

Countdown...

My son and I leave for London in a week... FINALLY!

I re-booked our flights as soon as I received our visas and have been counting down the days ever since. I can NOT wait to see my husband again!!!

Time has never moved so slowly...

Since I have nothing inspiring to write about until then, please visit my posts on American Mom in London.

• Being a tourist in "my own town"
• Some undiplomatic behavior
  
• House Hunting...
  
• ...and where I really want to live
  

Blogging on Boring British Bureaucracy

I've avoiding blogging about the process of acquiring our dependent visas for the UK because I imagine it would be as stressful and tedious to read as it is to endure...

First and foremost, I was super annoyed that Hubby spent all of his time designating “foster homes” for his Star Wars toys and thirty-year-old Legos instead of submitting the paperwork for our dependent visas. Which, by the way, was something we were supposed to have done before we booked our flights to London… Oops!

I mean, really… wasn’t it enough for me to get us packed, get the house on the market, and get our affairs in order? Dealing with the paperwork to get us over there was basically his ONLY task!

But, as I am constantly reminded, "There's nothing you can do about that now. You just need to deal with it..." (Umm, still mad. grrr...)

With Hubby's work visa having been secured by his office, I figured, my son and I could simply go over (undetected) as tourist and apply for our dependent visas once we go there... WRONG!

Earlier this week, I received a personal call from the BRITISH EMBASSY…

…and no, it was NOT as high-profile and important as it sounds.

Hubby had contacted the embassy on our behalf and a representative was merely calling to follow up. She was very polite, and more importantly… helpful.

She also assured me that my "little plan" was (insert prim British accent here) “absolutely not allowed. No, no, no. That is… FORBIDDEN”.

Apparently, a few months ago there was a policy change in which foreigners are not allowed to enter into the UK unless they have a guaranteed return ticket OUT of the UK. I imagine holding cells and all the glamour of being DEPORTED....

Well then. I suppose I’ll just go ahead and rebook our flights now...

Okay, so the process isn't actually not THAT terrible. There are actually some useful websites which I was already using, so at least I was on the right track...

The hard part is handing over all of our original -- not photocopies and not even certified photocopies, but our ORIGINAL birth certificates, marriage license, and passports to a faceless entity with little to no reassurance of their timely return (if at all...)

I also have to provide three months worth of bank statements, which I assume is meant to prove we're not paupers coming to mooch their national health care or some such.

Once it's all sent, I wait-- wondering if I dotted all of the Is and crossed all of the Ts and hoping that we get approved.

Until that happens, my son and I will continue to live with my parents, to their utter joy and satisfaction...

INDEFINITELY.

Boo.

What? No corn syrup dipping sauce?

I promise I not to become a snotty ex-pat, constantly ranting about the Euro and how far superior life in Europe is in comparison to the United States...

But there are just some things that are so quintessentially "American" that I am quite all right with leaving behind.

Such as...

We so are the fattest country in the world, aren't we....

When Giant Spiders Attack

AHHHHHHHH!

Oh okay. Just kidding! That's just one of our sofas wrapped up and ready to go because it's...

MOVING DAY!!!!

Every single piece of our furniture is being sealed for long-term storage as I blog. One by one, each item is taken onto the big bright shiny truck parked outside...

See, there goes our black leather sofa. It used to be the crown jewel of Hubby's "bachelor pad collection". These days, it's nothing special in our "playroom collection" It's covered in milk splatters and the crevices are filled with Cheerios and Cheddar Bunnies.

Mmm... Cheddar Bunnies....

It was the first piece of furniture to come into the house, and today, it was the first piece of furniture to come out. As I watched it being moved, I started getting emotional about leaving our very first home.

Last night, before leaving to stay at my parents' house, my son went around the house and said "good-bye" to each room. We told him it was the last time he was going to see his house... well, as it was. Today, I felt compelled to do the same thing, but I took photos instead.

This is what our bedroom looked like yesterday when my son was on his "farewell tour"...

... and this is what it looks like today.

Since no "respectable" charity was willing to take our (used) mattress and boxspring, we advertised it on Freecycle. Within 10 minutes, we had twelve "offers" on it. At 10 am this morning, a couple came by to get it... a mere hour before the movers showed up for the bed frame by the way. I also managed to pawn off... er, offer them an office desk and a drafting table that we've been trying to get rid of for weeks now.

They were extremely grateful and even offered to do some work around the house to "pay us back". We refused because they were actually doing us the favor by taking our free stuff, but seriously, how sweet is that?!

Of course, as soon as they drove off, a friend called to ask for the desk and was disappointed that we had just given it away. Still feeling so very magnanimous, we offered to let him "hold on to" a couple of long, heavy folding tables that could be used as desks...

He was delighted (I think) and showed up to get them twenty minutes later. One less thing to store ourselves. Score!

Here is my living room before...

...and what it looks likes at the moment.


Our entry hallway, before the movers came...

...and after.

And for my final heartbreak, my son's room on the day we brought him home from the hospital...

...and today.

Elephants, Peanuts, and Buried Saints

Our house was a total wreck for the showings over the holiday weekend. It was our last weekend to pack and with so much of it left to do, we just kept at it, as agent after agent strolled through with buyers.

My in-laws were in town helping us as well, and my mother-in-law instituted a maddening, but effective system of emptying every drawer and cupboard onto the counters, then packing everything all at once. Previously, we were trying to be neat and just pack one little area at at time, which was NOT working...

So with everything we own not only OUT, but also covering every surface, each couple had to step over our boxes and piles of packing peanuts to "admire" the house. I say (air quotes) admire, because the feedback that was given to our agent and passed along to us was not good...

Until this weekend, we hardly got any feedback. Mostly that "the house was nice and showed well, but the buyers were still looking". This time, we got "the house is too small and dark", "hated the neighborhood", or "hated the built-ins and other decorative upgrades"...

I know I shouldn't obsess over the random comments of random strangers who lack imagination, but I've been bitter about it ever since. Obviously, circumstances were not ideal, but again, it's hard not to take this sort of stuff personally.

However, I'm not sure what is the "best circumstance" when it comes to selling a house, but you better believe that everyone has an opinion on the matter... and is dying to share it with me.

My mother-in-law insists that a properly staged home sells the quickest. On the other hand, I have friends who insist that an empty house allows buyers to better visualize their stuff in each room. More importantly, buyers avoid getting distracted by something you own and plan to take with you and has nothing to do with the house itself...

I tend to agree with that latter advice. When we were house hunting, we walked into a home where the owners were obsessed with elephants. Uhhhb-sessed! There were tables, chairs, and planters shaped like elephants. They had elephant throw pillows, elephant artwork, soap carved into teeny tiny elephants, and even two large plush elephants posed as if they were kissing...

Hubby and I (and even our real estate agent) got so caught up in making fun of them, that we totally didn't take the house seriously... AT ALL.

There was also the time when we walked into a house where the owners had just cooked bacon. I'm sure the house could have been aired out and been fine, but it just smelled (and thereby looked) entirely too greasy and gross to us that we never even looked at the house. The smell was so overpowering that we simply turned around and walked out immediately.

Our house does not smell like bacon.

One person who recently sold a house in one of the priciest and worst housing markets in the country told me that buyers really go for perfectly aligned vacuum tracks on carpet. I guess I know I'll be doing every other day until my son and I leave to London...

Of course, there is also the myth/urban legend about burying a saint in your front yard, which all of my Catholic friends swear by. Being a practicing Catholic myself, I did a little research on the matter (Google) and discovered that there's a whole spell-casting, candle-burning, dousing of magic oils aspect to it, as well...

I even found a "St. Joseph House Selling Kit" on Amazon for $19.95. Oh, baby! Yeah!

Grief, In No Particular Order

When I first told my parents that Hubby was interviewing for his new job, my mom slipped into shock/denial right then and there...

"Mom, if all goes well with Hubby's interview tomorrow, we may be moving to London..."

"Oh. Well, before you go, could you return that skirt I gave you? I saw it in your closet--"

"Sure, but did you hear what I said?"

"I never see you wear it and I want it back."

"Okay, you can have it, but Mom--"

"I paid a lot of money for that skirt and--"

"MOM, SHUT ABOUT THE STUPID SKIRT. WE ARE MOVING TO LONDON..."

Then, there was the short-lived "bargaining phase" of suggesting that my son and I continue living here while Hubby lived over there until he decides if this is "really the job for him"... (umm, NO and yes, it is)

A few days later, they started making pithy remarks like, "This is not a time to be happy about anything." That same week, I decided to pack up the house early and move in with them once Hubby left to start working.

Call me crazy, but I just wasn't up for keeping the house immaculate and show-worthy, while still packing and taking care of my son all... by... myself.

Excited that we would be staying with them for a whole month before leaving for good, they perked up a bit. That is, until three days ago when my dad, who is usually the nicest guy in the world, went off on a passive aggressive tirade that quickly switched to a full on aggressive tirade about how we should have taken his advice on storing our furniture...

Even though it was a mere three days before we were set to move everything out of the house and there's nothing I could do about it, but whatever...

We both knew it wasn't really about the furniture, but it still ended badly.

My next door neighbor warned me this would happen, so I knew it was just a matter of time before they would get to the "anger stage" of their grief. I just hoped it would be after we left, and not right before I was to move out of my house and into theirs. I also especially hoped that they would take it out on someone else and not me during the most frazzled stages of this move.

He blew up. I blew up, then cried, called my sister, told her all about it, and cried again. This clearly wasn't the way I wanted to part ways with my family.

In general, my parents have been great through this entire process of packing and moving. They've been very supportive and super helpful-- coming over to help pack, bringing us meals, and such. They even positively insisted that we store the bulk of our things at their house to save money, so this wasn't the way they wanted to part ways either.

My mom called an hour later to smooth things over. She listened to my side of the story and offered to come over and help out anyway I needed.

Both of my parents showed up later that evening baring the two biggest suitcases I've ever seen in my life. They had stopped to buy them for us on their way over because apparently that is how my dad says "sorry".

Saying Good-bye

In all of the drama and details of moving, we sort of overlooked one thing…

The fact that we’re leaving so many wonderful friends in Dallas… some of which came out for a “good-bye dinner” in our honor yesterday evening.

When one of our friends first suggested it a few weeks ago, I really didn’t give it much thought. It was a very sweet gesture, of course, but I was too consumed with all of the junk… er, stuff in our house and deciding what to ship versus store. I put together a small(ish) guest list and an eVite was quietly sent, while I contended with “bigger” stuff like acquiring a passport for my toddler and putting the house on the market…

The evening of the dinner, my parents came by to watch our son and do more packing. Hubby was still obsessing over his boxes of books before I dragged him out to the car. On the way to the restaurant, we discussed how my family was handling the move and debated which storage company to go with…

We were the first to arrive and as our friends began showing up, we filled each of them in on all of the details, rehashing over and over when Hubby was set to depart and when my son and I would follow, the new job, etc.

It wasn’t until Hubby and I were seated at dinner, surrounded by people who actually wanted to hear every tedious detail about our move, that it hit us…

We’re leaving them.

We are actually leaving all of these people who we love and adore. People who have heard all of our best stories… TWICE, but laugh out loud anyways. People who know that I talk too loud and am often crass, but will still be seen with me… in public, no less. People who we are touched and honored to affectionately call our “friends back home”.

Hubby's flight leaves on Thursday, as in less than a week from today…

We don't have a lot of time, but we've made a point of make it to lunches and play groups anyway. People have dropped by the house either to deliver boxes or a coffee cake and wish us well. Sometimes, they come by just to chat, and even though no one says it, I can't help by sadly wonder if this is the last time we'll see them "until we come back home".

Everything Has a Price... Literally.

Okay, so our first garage sale was less than fabulous...

After posting the larger items on craigslist and taking the baby stuff to a resale shop, we made a good chunk of change. Unless, of course, you factor in the cost for ads in the local papers, signage, and all of the time and effort it took to price and organize everything only to sit around all day...

The whole thing was a huge waste of time. I have no idea why garage sales are supposedly such a great idea... Or is that just a suburban myth?

As in you're lead to believe that "oh so many" folks will be knocking on your door an hour early because there are people that are just that hard-core about garage sales, when in reality.... everyone secretly loathes them. I mean, I do not personally know one person who enjoys spending their weekends pawing through other people's junk. Not one.

In other news, the house went on the market on Tuesday and we've been shooed out of our home several times already for showings that may or may not have been happening. I guess that's a good sign, except I wish we could caveat that with "No looky-loos. Serious buys ONLY"...

I am already so fed up with vacating my home every time the phone rings that yesterday, I just flat out refused to leave. We stood out in the yard while a real estate agent, a father, and his 2- or 3-year old son looked through the house.

The boy immediately ran to one of my son's toys and started playing with it while his dad and the agent toured, commenting on the slate floors and crown molding. The entire visit took all of 5 minutes, while we were asked to reserve 2 hours for it. That's 115 minutes I could have spent...

A) packing
B) packing

...or,

C) PACKING....

When it was time to leave, the boy had to be forcibly extracted kicking and screaming, "I want to stay! I want to stay! I want to STAY!" I slyly commented to his dad, "You know, that can be arranged... "

However, there is ONE bright side to all this. Hubby's been so super on the ball about keeping the house pristine and beautiful (in spite of the toddler that lives here too...) It's nice to see him be the one so tense and stressed out about the house for a change. I am also loving the clean and efficient household. Laundry gets folded and put away promptly, dishes are done on the spot, and the trash and recycling is removed three or four times daily... at least. No more dirty socks on the bedroom floor or random little piles of papers and wadded up tissues that he'll "get to... later"...

I should have put my house on the market ages ago. (HA!)

What a bust!

Moving out of the country? Have too much crap stuff? Can't take any of it with you?

Have a garage sale!!!

How perfectly logical and possibly profitable... "You have so much REALLY good stuff. You'll make SOOOOO much money," all of my friends told me.

So, why am I blogging... ALONE... on my front lawn, still surrounded by all of my crap... er, really good stuff? (deep sigh)

Our last "busybody browser" came by an hour ago. He told me I was charging too much for a tripod and then proceeded to list everything else that I'm doing WRONG with this sale... everything from the location (umm, not much I can do there...) to the time of year.

"This," he said pointing to all the merchandise still piled up on my lawn, on my driveway, and in my garage, "is NOT normal for this time of day....". Then he left without the tripod that I said he could have for a $1...

Thanks for nothing... jerk.

Home Sweet Home

It's strange and somewhat disconcerting to look at your house through the eyes of potential buyers...

Everyone thinks they have good taste, but thanks to pretty much any show on the TLC network, we all know otherwise. Of course, you start with the best of intentions when you buy a house. (We certainly did.) You start off with a "big" empty house, then you purchase furniture and art work. You inherit some patio furniture and buy a grill. You talk about renovating and replacing...then life gets in the way.

Next thing you know, you have a toddler who leaves crumbs on the sofas, scuffs the hardwood floors, and spills milk on the carpet. So, what's the point of replacing any of it anytime before he leaves for college?

It was L- O- V-E the first time we set foot in our house. The beautiful hardwood and slate floors, the spacious yard, the enormous closet in the master bath, and the charming French doors leading into the study... there was a lot to love, but it still was no where near our "dream house".

For starters, the water heater had to be replaced two weeks after we signed the mortgage. Then, there was the matter of the hideous wall paper and borders throughout the house, and the broken ladder up to the attic. Ugh!

We took down the border and repainted in the study right away, but it's four years later and we still haven't quite gotten around to doing the same thing to the bathrooms or the kitchen. (We never replaced the ladder up to the attic either...)

These days, we hardly notice it anymore-- the wallpaper, not the ladder. Perhaps we've even grown to admire it as one of the house's little quirks. That is, until it was time to put in on the market again...

We can't help it. We look around and all we think of are the good times we've had here. It's the first house we ever owned together and the place where we brought our son home. It's where he learned how to crawl and eventually how to walk, then run. We think about how proud we are to call it ours.

We were initially attracted to this house because the open floor plan is great for parties, and we've certainly thrown our fair share of them... There have been so many happy occasions that we've celebrated within these walls with friends who never know when it's time to say "good-night". It was okay, though. We certainly didn't mind opening "just one more bottle of wine" and keeping them entertained late into the night.

It's difficult to separate all of that from what a potential buyer only sees...

The hardwood floors that ought be refinished, and the hideous (and now, painfully outdated) wallpaper that goes floor to ceiling in the kitchen.

Some months ago, when we were looking to move to a bigger house (but not necessarily "across the pond"), I asked a real estate agent to evaluate our home and provide some pointers on things to update, renovate, or just get rid of in order to fetch a better selling price.

I feverishly cleaned, polished, and picked up before she came over, and her only words of advice...

De-clutter. Hmphf!

home, sweet home

Why was this such a good idea, again?

Did you know that two-year-olds need passports?

Yeah... It's one of those things that makes perfect sense.

I mean, they are required to have their very own pricey seat on the plane. They stand in the same lines, go through the same security clearances, and must keep their liquids to 3.5 onces and within a Ziplock Brand baggie...

It stands to reason that they would be required to provide the appropriate documentation... when you think of it.

But, WHO HAS TIME TO THINK when your husband starts working in LONDON in 3 weeks and your house in DALLAS, TEXAS still needs to be packed, cleaned, and sold...

Meanwhile the aforementioned two-year-old is unfolding the laundry (as I am folding it) and the aforementioned husband seriously wants to keep all of his comic books, Tonka trunks, Legos, and Star Wars toys from his childhood...

Seriously?

GAHHHHH!

Hi, Internet. Have you missed me? I've missed me...

I know I haven't been around much... you know, commenting and posting like usual. It's because I've been that crazy, stressed out, screaming woman since this insanity all began.

Oh, did I mentioned that we have NO IDEA where we will be living and therefore no idea where to ship our stuff in London, and my mother-in-law wants to come "help" me pack...

I've cried more in the past two days than I had in the past ten years.

Why was this such a good idea, again?

Stealing My Thunder

The other day, I went over to tell my next door neighbors about our upcoming move to Loooooon-don.

OMG, I still can't even believe I'm saying that!

Anyway, I though it would be courteous to give them a little forewarning before the "For Sale" sign went up in the yard.

Relations between the next door neighbors and us have cozied since we finally broke down and hired a lawn service for our yard. We're still not the best of friends, but they are nice people and great neighbors. It's a shame we have to leave them.

They were sad too, but super excited for us. As you can imagine, we've been getting that reaction a lot lately. Having been through a similar situation, my neighbor warned me about the range of emotions to expect from our loved ones...

Shock/denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance and asking to crash at your place when they visit you in the fabulous new city you will be living in.... Sound familiar?

I didn't really believe her until the e-mails and phone calls started pouring in. Most are supportive and excited. One person's messages consisted of random brain farts about going to Wimbledon and courtesying to the Queen, and, of course, a lot of requests to visit...

The moms in my playgroup immediately started planning a girls' trip to London this Fall, although I have no idea who the heck they plan on staying with... hehe! Well, except for one...

As I mentioned in my previous post, I could have blabbed about moving to London ages ago when we were only thinking about it (Lord knows we had a lot to think about), but I didn't. Although we kept our families in the loop as things were progressing, I waited until things were finalized and we had made a decision before telling our friends.

However, when I announced our news at playgroup the next day, another mom took the opportunity to announce that she was moving too... maybe. To Houston... she thinks...

You see, her husband may be up for a new position that could possibly relocate the family this Summer... but, it may not happen until the Fall.... Winter? Totally, by next year. They don't know exactly because the job hasn't quite been offered to him yet... but, it's totally his... in a "wink-nudge" kind of way... (gag!)

She admitted that she plan to keep her news to herself until things were FINALIZED, but only brought it up because I had just announced that we're definitely moving...

After that, whenever one of the other moms wanted to hear the details about our move or Hubby job, she would counter with more of their tentative plans to repaint the walls so her house sells better... or ask about our thoughts on converting her pool to saltwater... you know, so her house sells better.

No.

One.

Cares.

I'm selling all my worldly possessions and giving up everything familiar, so my Husband can pursue his dreams and we can live in London.

I WIN!

Geez, some moms just can't let the competition just end....

We interrupt this regular suburban life to bring you....

So, I've done a lot of whining (and not much else around here) this past week, but only because I couldn't write about all the stuff that's really been happening...

Stuff that I was sitting on because things weren't quite finalized until now, but I've been incredibly pre-occupied with nonetheless...

Stuff that, as much as I really, really, really wanted to blog about it, I just didn't think I should until I had a chance to tell my "real life" peeps (because you know how I am about that) and I didn't want to tell anyone until things were set and well...

Okay, here goes...

Hubby just accepted a job in London and we're moving!!!

(Yeah! I know, right?)

Oh my goodness, where to begin?

First of all, it's a job with a visual effects company that's been courting Hubby for a while. They would call and send him e-mails every so often to see how he's doing... see if he wanted to pick up everything, hop "across the pond", and take a job with them...

Of course, he was always gainfully employed at the time, not to mention comfortably well established with a house, two cars, friends and family in the Dallas 'burbs.

Each time they contacted him, we would throw our heads back and laugh, saying, "Oh ha-ha, wouldn't it be CRAZY and RIDICULOUS and FUN to just pick up and live in London for a while" ...and never mean it.

Well, when they found out Hubby was on the market again, they did not hesitate in grabbing him up quickly. They gave us about a day to consider their offer, but we had already made up our minds at that point...

High tea and the Queen, it is!

I know it’s a little nuts, but it’s simply an opportunity he just could NOT pass up. Not only will he be doing the work that he’s always wanted, this new position will give him a chance to work with world-class artists and advance in his field… and not to mention a fabulous ADVENTURE for our family.

He doesn't start work until his visa clears, which should take about a month. My son and I plan to follow as soon as the house sells.

In the meantime, we're in the process of downsizing and figuring out what to take/store/sell. Not an easy process as Hubby and I both like to hoard and are apparently highly sentimental about stuff the other one views as junk... (Oops, did I just type that?)

As you can imagine, our house looks like a giant rummage sale at the moment, and their hasn't been a decent meal cooked since this all went down. I'm not even sure if my son has been taking his daily Flintstones vitamin or wearing matching socks anymore.

It's as if wild and irresponsible people suddenly took over the running of my household.